TERRY'S SECRET – HUTCH'S PROMISE
Ken Hutchinson longed to feel normal again; however normal was defined these days. The last four and a half months had been the worst times of his life. When Roy Slater forced Hutch's car from that deserted roadway, he knew the intent was for him to die. His LTD had tumbled over 120 feet down a steep canyon wall, tossing him around inside the vehicle like a rag doll in a dryer. He knew he should have worn that seat belt, and yet through the confusion and pain, he had miraculously survived the rollover. That was followed by four days of unyielding heat; the sun beating down upon his trapped body, burning his delicate Nordic features, drying the fair skin and parching his throat. Interspersed, there were three long nights of bone chilling cold. Terrible darkness… alone with the broken police radio, alone with the wild creatures that called these canyons home, alone with his thoughts, alone with his greatest fear that help would come too late or never at all.
Alone.
But the gods had been kind and sent an unlikely pair of angels. The second day, a baritone voice penetrated the silence. Colonel Sonny McPherson patrolled these canyons, traipsed over the rocks and through thick underbrush singing "The Battle Hymn of the Republic". He discovered the overturned Ford and its ensnared occupant. The old coot was as batty as he could be, believing Hutch was a German spy in Occupied France, but savvy enough to recall the blonde's exact location. Then there was Bobby. The 13 year-old amateur Ham radio operator had picked up the detective's weak Mayday and relayed it to Police Headquarters and ultimately to Sergeant David Starsky.
Starsky…precious Starsky, tenacious Starsky who had saved him from Vic Humphries murderous intentions only to rush to his side with water and the promise of rescue for his broken and battered body. Starsky…who had covered him with his own leather bomber jacket…soothing him, assuring him that he wasn't imagining that his curly-haired partner had actually found him when he'd given up all hope of survival. Starsky…who had steadfastly remained by his side while the firefighters completed arduous process of extricating him from beneath four-thousand pounds of crumpled steel and shattered glass
For five interminable hours Starsky walked a twenty-foot beat in the corridor outside the Emergency Room. He paced like a caged animal, paced and sat, paced and sat, constantly staring at the double doors that kept him isolated from his best friend. His universe revolved around Planet Hutchinson and nothing else mattered. There was no one in this place but the flaxen-haired man who lay separated from him by shiny tiled walls and a frenzied staff of medical personnel.
A petite brown-haired woman with a broad smile and kind eyes watched the brooding, anxious stranger carefully. She had chosen not to interfere with his solitude, but the incessant squeaking of his sneakers on the polished linoleum floor made him difficult to ignore. So she broke the ice with a carefully thought out remark about the weather. A grunt…well, it was better than nothing. Another remark about how difficult it was to just wait, not knowing anything about what was transpiring behind those closed doors. He stopped pacing. A nod. She explained that she was awaiting news of one of her students who had received a minor injury from a fall at her school. Another nod and another grunt, but no eye contact, he was obviously concentrating on something incredibly important. Each time someone emerged from behind those doors, he rushed to see if there was any news. With each tick of the clock, his mood became more sullen. So she inquired as to why he was there…A wife? A child? Finally, Starsky revealed the truth and for a brief time, she provided a mental reprieve from the worry and stress that invaded his soul. The two exchanged phone numbers. She finally left the waiting area with a promise of prayers for his partner and a soft drink for him from a nearby vending machine.
The following day, she called to inquire about him. Starsky was genuinely touched that she had remembered. He told her that the doctors couldn't explain it, but Hutch had beaten the odds. His injuries were life-threatening, his recovery long, but he was alive and the curly-haired man was elated. They agreed to meet at the hospital cafeteria and over coffee, they talked. Several days later a hasty lunch at Huggy's where they talked more…mostly about the man in Room 722 of Memorial Hospital. Then finally…a real date.
For twelve weeks Hutch endured the pain of a cracked pelvis, two separate surgeries stemming from multiple internal injuries, three broken ribs, a concussion and a broken left femur and tibia, as well as numerous bruises and lacerations. He faced the very real possibility of a career-ending amputation. Eventually, bones in his injured leg had to be rebroken and the ligaments in his knee arthroscopiclly repaired. But he was alive and through it all, his devoted partner had been at his bedside, another constant vigil in what was now becoming routine. Starsky was there when he slept and when he woke. He fretted and fussed refusing to leave his blonde partner in the hands anyone he didn't thoroughly investigate. There would be no more attempts on Hutch's life… no more slip-ups, just in case Slater hadn't acted alone.
One evening during the third week of Hutch's hospitalization, Starsky came to his room with her in tow. Uncertain as to how to proceed, and somewhat awestruck from the tales Starsky told her, she tentatively approached as introductions were made. Hutch warmed to her immediately as Starsky introduced her as Terry Roberts, the woman he'd met in the emergency room waiting area. He reached a bandaged hand toward her, and with a smile she took his gently: her touch was warm, caring and sincere.
Starsky beamed and in that brief moment, Hutch spied a man in the throes of love. She brought him a Coleus in a planter festooned with a big yellow ribbon. Hutch invited her to see the jungle greenhouse of his Venice Place apartment, since she, too, was into gardening.
As Starsky perched upon the bed, attentive to his friend's every need, Terry understood that there was something unworldly about their relationship. She marveled at how they finished one another's sentences. How a simple touch on the shoulder or a look was all they needed to provide reassurance that everything was alright. And in that moment, she realized that any future she would have with the dark-haired one would be inexorably linked to the blonde…they were a package deal and that was the way it would always be.
Terry saw the unique way they cared for each other especially when one was injured. Thus far she had only seen Hutch injured but she knew or sensed that the caring flowed both ways no matter who the injured party was.
During these times when she was allowed into this special world, because that is what is was, she preferred to sit back and watch the two friends interact. It was amusing, entertaining and magical all at the same time. Sometimes David or Ken would pull her with them and she was able to step a little closer in, but eventually she would drift back out to being the observer which she didn't mind. Theirs was a relation that shouldn't be meddled with or changed and she hoped it never would be. They were perfect just the way they were.
Terry had become a regular fixture on Starsky's arm. She spent countless hours at the hospital while Hutch slowly recovered. When he was finally released from Memorial, she would often come to Venice Place to cook a meal for the two men. She'd even gotten Starsky to eat the dreaded vegetables she prepared. Yes… Starsky was a man in love.
Despite the fact that Hutch was officially on medical leave, he'd found a way to be at work, preparing the mountains of paperwork that his curly-haired partner had promptly ignored during his convalescence. Hutch worried constantly. Starsky had been assigned a temporary partner, someone who lacked the trademark unspoken communication that the duo had enjoyed from the beginning. The blonde detective was angry and frustrated that his leg had prevented him from hitting the streets and until that smiling face bounded through the squad room doors, the big blonde was often in a self-imposed panic. But eventually the cast was removed, with a caution to keep things simple for the time being. He felt cooped up, longing for his daily 3-mile jog along the comforting sands of Venice Beach.
But, once again, like a fresh breeze from the ocean, Terry had suggested that her two friends come to the Marshal School for Exceptional Children to play a simplified version of basketball. It was a gentle form of exercise and often Hutch spent more time herding the special-needs children than actually shooting hoops. But the kids had quickly warmed to him and soon the Blintz's Buffalos were focused and laughing, playing against Starsky's Hornets.
No one kept score.
Then the unthinkable happened. One night Terry had walked to the Bellamar Market at Windsor and Stockton and during a staged robbery and was shot in the head by crazy George Prudholm. Prudholm was an inmate at the Cabrillo Point Hospital. Despite being adjudicated to be criminally insane, he had managed to walk out of the facility through a clerical error. Now it was well-known that Prudholm had been seeking vengeance for Starsky's arrest, subsequent conviction and incarceration of George's only son, Gary. The twenty-three year-old was killed in a prison knife-fight and the old man never had come to terms with it. Two cops had died previously, a result of Prudholm's twisted revenge against Starsky. That night, as the two detectives left for the evening, they had suddenly been alerted to a 211 in progress only to find Terry being attended to by a frenzied team of paramedics. Her left forehead was bleeding. Starsky's voice cracked with raw emotion, as be begged her to hang on.
The proprietor told Hutch that the intent wasn't a robbery, they were intent on hurting Terry. Starsky was devastated. And then the news had come that she wouldn't live more than a year. Starsky immediately proposed. He prayed that the consulting doctors in New York would return a more favorable prognosis, but none was to be had. Terry checked herself out of the hospital and decided to go on with her life; often chiding her fiancé for treating her like she was made of glass. Plans for an impromptu wedding were made and Starsky asked the blonde to be his best man.
There are defining moments in every person's life, events that are so profound that the person remembers where they were, what they were doing and even conversations that transpired. For many it was the day the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbour, for others it was the day that President Kennedy was assassinated, yet for others it was the day that Neil Armstrong first walked on the moon. So it was for Ken Hutchinson.
On a sunny Thursday morning, Terry telephoned Hutch at Venice Place, asking to see him in private. In less than fifteen minutes he was at her door. He rang the bell and Terry opened it, clutching a well-worn teddy bear to her chest.
"Hi, Ken. Thanks for coming so quickly."
"Terry is everything alright?" The concern in the flaxen-haired detective was palpable.
"I'm fine…as well as I can be fine." Terry's eyes narrowed as Hutch took her by the arm and gently led her to a nearby flowered couch. "Let me get you some tea. Ken. I've got the water on."
"I'll do that. You just sit there and relax." Hutch cautioned as he headed for the small galley kitchen. As he busied himself, Terry studied him intently, her chin resting on the top of her teddy bear's fuzzy head. Yes, he would be the right man for the job. "Spearmint or Chamomile?" Hutch called from behind the divider.
"Spearmint." Terry softly replied.
Hutch quickly returned with a tray carrying two steaming mugs, spoons and a squeeze bottle of raw wildflower honey. As they sat on the couch, Terry turned toward the tall man and paused reflectively. "Ken, there's a favour I need to ask of you," Hutch captured her small hand, sandwiching it between his own.
"Of course, you only need ask." Hutch's crystal blue eyes were intently focused, blocking out all but her angelic face.
"It's just that…well, I need your help." Hutch tightened his grasp of her hand. "Ken, when the time comes…" she paused. "Dave is going to be lost, very lost. In so many ways, you're much stronger than he is, and I was hoping that you would call my parents up in Sacramento and let them know."
Oh God, Terry. I'm not the strong one here…you are.
Hutch silently nodded, steeling himself against his own personal heartbreak. This is so damned unfair. "Of course…sure. I'll t-take care of e-everything." He assured her as he uncomfortably peered down at his shoes.
Terry took her hand from Hutch's and gently touched his face. "It's OK, Ken. I didn't mean to upset you. It's something I'm kind of aware, that you stutter when you get upset and that's the last thing I want to do." She began a slow rhythmic massage of Hutch's tensed left shoulder. "It's OK…my kids deal with this all the time. It's nothing to be ashamed of."
Please, Terry...don't try to make me feel better.
Hutch took a deep, cleansing breath. "I'm alright." He reassured her, as Terry reached for a small folded piece of paper from the coffee table.
"Thanks…you know how parents are...wanted me to come home and I told them I needed to be surrounded by my friends, my kids and David…and you." Hutch swallowed hard and nodded in agreement. "They're real nice, Ken. James and Nancy Roberts. I've written down the home number and Dad's number at work. He's an architect…designs fully-accessible houses and apartments."
Small talk…it's no use, Terry. This is gonna be real hard.
For a few minutes, they sat on the couch, sipping tea and talking about the school and her hopes for the children. But as their talk wound to a close, she began to act edgy…clutching the white bear, pulling it ever closer to her petite frame. Hutch sensed her unease. "Maybe I should go, Starsky, er…Dave is stopping by in a few hours and you need your rest."
"Don't go Ken. There's something I need to tell you, something real important…something that you need to understand." She took a deep breath. "That night at the market…I sensed something was wrong...you know, sometimes how you know?"
The blonde detective nodded.
"I wasn't paying attention. I was somewhere else…I…" Frustration flashed in her brown eyes, she scowled, uncertain as to how to proceed. Hutch slid closer to her. "It's alright" he assured. "Terry, what's wrong?"
"Promise me you'll help him. Promise."
"I promise."
"You see…when I die I'm not going to be the only one. Ken…I'm carrying Dave's child."
The revelation struck him hard, every bit as harsh and forceful as the icy, wet winds from an Alberta Clipper. God no….Jesus…God, no. Hutch swallowed hard, the lines on his face more pronounced. "Does he know?" He whispered.
"I'm going to tell him tomorrow night. He's planning this romantic dinner at some secret place in Brentwood before the wedding on Saturday."
Café E'toille.
"I won't say anything. Promise." Hutch nodded. "I promise, Terry. Your secret's safe with me."
"It's just that this may hit him very hard…you know." She explained. "So, I thought that if you knew…"
"Yeah…yeah." Hutch's voice trailed off.
But Terry Roberts didn't live long enough to become Mrs. David Starsky. She didn't live long enough to have that pre-wedding dinner, either. The following afternoon, she died with a broken and sobbing Starsky at her bedside.
And true to his word, Hutch kept his promise.
The tall blonde took over. Putting his own grief aside, he operated on auto-pilot, calling Terry's parents, selecting the right funeral director, arranging for her body to be shipped to Sacramento, notifying everyone in Terry's address book, consoling the distraught children, and even driving a grieving Starsky to her parent's home. He remained in the background. Hutch had become a protecting angel, acting as his partner's self-appointed body guard, sleeping on the couch, being certain that his partner ate and bathed, paying his bills and silently sitting beside him for hours while the curly-haired detective stared seemingly at nothing in particular.
You're so much stronger than he is.
Two weeks after her death, the two friends sat together on the wooden floor of Starsky's kitchen. With hopes dashed for a future career with the Vancouver Lions and robbing banks in Bolivia not an option, the clock struck midnight. The time had come for them to open gifts that Terry had left behind. Starsky went first. A book…1000 Ways to Win Monopoly.
With his emotions raw and bleeding, it was Hutch's turn. He opened the bundle that was tied with a blue ribbon. "That's Ollie." Starsky explained. "She used to keep him on the bed with her."
Hutch lifted the bear and peered into the lifeless little brown eyes. He was suddenly struck by the revelation that the stuffed toy was about the size of a newborn…a newborn with lifeless brown eyes. A newborn he would never know, the unfulfilled promise of the "Uncle Ken" he would never become.
Keep it together, man…keep it together for his sake.
Hutch drew the note from its envelope and read the words aloud:
Dearest Hutch…
To you I entrust…Ollie and Dave.
Please love them both.
Don't let either of them change
His heart broke. The ocean blue eyes filled with tears that he dared not shed. It's beautiful." He whispered. At first Starsky smiled and then, there in the darkness of the kitchen on Ridgeway Avenue, David Michael Starsky gave into his deepest grief. He slid across the floor into Hutch's waiting arms and sobbed. Hutch held him firm, ever mindful to be the pillar of strength…the rock that he promised Terry he would be.
Finis